


Kismet

by SilverRowan_Ivy630951



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Brief mention of a man being abused by his female SO, Crying, Cussing, Dancing, Dancing and Singing, Declarations Of Love, Fluff, Gunshot Wounds, Happy Ending, Hurt Steve Rogers, I only tagged people who talked more than once, M/M, Major Character Injury, Panic Attacks, Police Officer Steve Rogers, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Silly, caught on video, silliness, some descriptions of trauma, surgery and a hospital stay is mentioned but not explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:27:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22673281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverRowan_Ivy630951/pseuds/SilverRowan_Ivy630951
Summary: Bucky Barnes is driving home work work one night when he is thrown into a situation he never expected. He sort of maybe meets and saves the life of a cop named Steve Rogers.Maybe the rest is up to fate.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 62
Kudos: 343





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I’m actually really proud of this. It just sort of popped into my head partially formed while I was driving and I wrote/edited it in like 3-4 days. And part of that time I spent distracted by random stuff like 'Did You Know' facts on Tumblr and videos on Youtube. (There are elephants out there that are better artists than me, guys! I’m a crappy artist, sure, but _elephants_! <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=foahTqz7On4>)
> 
> Check tags for trigger warnings before you start reading! Let me know if I missed anything, please.
> 
> I’m my own beta so any mistakes are my own. Feel free to point them out to me.

“Fuck!” Bucky shouted as he slammed hard on his breaks. The two deer in the middle of the road didn’t even flinch. They just stood there and watched him try not to freak the fuck out. They just eyed him like he was an idiot.

Bucky had been having a good night, too. He’d gotten off work early, a rare occurrence when he had a twelve-hour night shift. But the work load had been light so he’d accepted the offer to go home.

He had been in a good mood when he’d left the city.

Point of fact, his job was actually in a large town, not a city. But, when a person lived in a little unincorporated Indiana town of less than one thousand residents that sported nothing more than a bank, a single ancient post office, and houses, a large town got called a city.

Bucky tooted his horn a few times to try to scare the deer off. It didn’t work. So, instead, he slowly edged his SUV forward. Maybe the rumbling from his engine would scare them off. No such luck. So he got as close as he dared and honked long and loud.

The stupid things damn near shit themselves. One of them actually ran headfirst into his grill before rebounding and taking off for the tree line ten feet away. Bucky ignored the possibility of a dent in his front end. He doubted the deer had made much of an impact, only coming from a foot away, but he’d check on it when he got home.

Of his hour-long drive from work, he still had another twenty minutes to go. He couldn’t wait to take his shoes off and just relax.

The night off. Beautiful.

With the deer out of the way, Bucky eased his foot off the break and continued on.

He knew he’d been lucky to even see the deer in time to stop. It was extremely dark at a little past one in the morning. He was in a rural area that was proud they didn’t have any lampposts to cause light pollution. It was also the middle of winter. And he’d been a bit distracted.

He knew shouldn’t have been, but he couldn’t help himself. The road he’d just passed always made him chuckle. It was called Sneak Road! And it came out right in the middle of a curve! It snuck up on people! That would always be funny. And, really, who cared if he was just a big kid? He sure didn’t.

Young at heart, his sister always called him. It was nicer than calling him a child when he enjoyed playtime just as much as her two children.

Being much more aware of the fact that deer were out and about, Bucky drove more cautiously. And he kept his eyes peeled, on the lookout for the telltale glow of animal eyes.

Less than a mile on, he came upon a cop car with flashing lights.

 _Someone’s getting a ticket_ , he thought. He was glad it wasn’t him, as bad of a person as that made him. _Better you than me, pal._

The SUV’s red and blue lights made it hard for Bucky to see and concentrate on the road—it felt a bit like they were stabbing him repeatedly in the brain.

After making sure no one was coming, unlikely at that time of night, he passed by in the empty oncoming traffic lane. Bucky knew that the cop car was stopped in the middle of the lane because two inches did not a shoulder make. The shoulder of the road basically consisted of nothing more than the white line. Next to that was a foot of grass that turned into a deep ditch.

He absently glanced in his side mirror as he drove past. Then, for the second time in less than a mile, he slammed on his breaks. Bucky jerked the wheel hard to the right, almost putting his SUV in the ditch. Then he was out and running, almost before his seatbelt had released him.

On the ground in front of the cop’s patrol car was a body—the cop’s body. From a couple feet away, he saw a blood-soaked bullet hole at the man’s shoulder and another two about half an inch below his bulletproof vest. Some bastard had shot him in the shoulder and gut and just left him to die!

“Please be alive. Please be alive,” he begged as he dropped to his knees.

Bucky ripped off his thick knitted scarf—briefly sending thanks out to the universe for his sister’s fateful Christmas gift to him—and pressed it to the man’s stomach. Put pressure on the wound: that’s what people on TV shows always did. That was reliable…probably.

With one hand pressing the scarf down, he used the other to feel for a pulse in the man’s neck. It was there. Weak, but still there.

“Fuck almighty,” he whispered.

Thinking quickly, he pulled off his fleece-lined coat and turned it inside out. Moving as fast as he dared, he replaced the scarf with it. He then moved the scarf to press against the man’s shoulder instead.

He needed to call 911, though, or none of this would matter. There was only so much that pressure would do. And he very much did _not_ know what else to do. But he didn’t have enough hands!

With silent apologies, he pressed down on the cop’s gut with his knee while his left hand held down the scarf. With his right, he fumbled his phone out of his back pocket, not caring that the cop’s blood was getting all over him and it.

“911, what is your emergency?”

“I need an ambulance sent to, fuck, um, about a mile south of Sneak Road at 162. There’s a cop shot three times that I can see, once in the shoulder, twice in the gut. Maybe more. I don’t know.”

And then he couldn’t help himself. He had no idea what to do so he did what he always did. He rambled. And he couldn’t fucking shut up.

Barely listening to a word the 911 operator said, he rattled off the cop’s license plate number. He told her his name and that he was just coming home from work, that he almost hit some deer. He told her the man’s coat had the name Rogers on it.

When Bucky said the name ‘Rogers,’ the cop’s eyelashes fluttered. Bucky dropped the phone, not paying any attention to where it landed. He ignored the buzzing of the operator still on the line and leaned forward.

“Hey! That’s right, pal. Come on, open your eyes. You godda wake up. You can’t die on me, alright? I don’t know what to do with a dead body! Come on, Rogers. That’s your name, right? Rogers? Good name for a cop.”

He tried to think of something to make the man respond. “I don’t know what the fuck happened tonight but I’m really glad I was passing by. Becks always teases me for being a Good Samaritan but really I’m just nosy. Can’t help sticking my nose into things. Landed me on the side of the road during the middle of a fuck-off-cold night. You could thank me by opening your eyes.”

He waited a beat. “You know, for someone with such unfairly long lashes, you’re taking an awfully long time to look at me.” Bucky knew that didn’t even make sense but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was too busy trying not to panic. And trying to get this guy to wake the fuck up. “Come on, Rogers.”

“Steve,” the cop mumbled.

“What?”

“My name’s Steve,” the man said. It sounded more like _M’ n’mmms S-eev_ but Bucky gave it to him anyway. If he were in Steve’s place, he’d be either hyperventilating because of panic or passed from hyperventilating because of panic.

“Okay. Yeah. Sure. Fine. Yeah, I’ll call you Steve. That’s a great name, Steve. Good name for a cop: Steve Rogers. Yeah. Great name. Bad place to take a nap, though. So you godda do me a favor and stay awake. You wouldn’t want to disappoint a random fucking stranger, now, would you?”

Bucky’s eyes darted to his coat and scarf. Too much blood. How much blood did one body hold? He wasn’t religious—far from it—but he prayed that there was enough to last until the cavalry arrived.

Bucky shifted and pressed down harder, adding his now-free hand. “‘Sides,” he continued over the man’s grunt of pain. “I bet all your paramedic buddies will be here soon. And your cop buddies. So you godda stay awake or they’ll tease you for the rest of your li—for sleeping on the job.”

“…talk a lo’.” The words were weak and slurred and it worried Bucky even more.

“Who, me? I don’t talk a lot. What’s there to talk a lot about? My sister says I only talk a lot when I’m happy or excited or _fucking panicking_. So why would I talk a lot? I am absolutely none of those things. Because this is a crappy night for a stroll in my shirtsleeves and everything’s going to be okay because you’re friends will be here soon. So, while there may be no reason to be happy or excited, there’s also no reason to panic. ‘Cause we’re good. Everything’s good. We’re doing just fine. Right, Steve?”

Bucky stared at Steve’s face. “Right?” He _willed_ the man to say something. Anything. “Come on, pal. Don’t do this to me,’ he begged. “Don’t make me do CPR or whatever it is because I _don’t fucking know how_!”

Then Steve opened his eyes. They were a startling blue in his headlights and Bucky sucked in a breath. He didn’t know if the man’s eyes were really that honest-to-god blue or if it was just a trick of the light but, whichever it was, the man was downright gorgeous.

“Hey! Yeah, that’s right. Look at me.” Bucky heard the sirens off in the distance now. “Stay with me, Steve. They’re almost here. You just have to hold on. Just a little while longer. Guy as pretty as you shouldn’t die.”

Fuck him and his stupid panic-induced word-vomit. Guy’s bleeding to death and Bucky hits on him? Fuck his life. Why couldn’t his words at least _wave_ at his brain before passing by to exit his stupid fucking mouth?

“Pr’y?” Steve asked. There was the barest hint of a smile curling at the edges of his mouth.

He didn’t know if Steve was teasing him or delirious or what, but Bucky’s mouth didn’t seem to care one way or the other. His words just kept tumbling on out. “Seriously? Hottest guy I’ve ever met and you ask me that? Fuck almighty. You’d have to be a goddamned idiot not to know how gorgeous you are. And fuck me and the horse I rode in on. Why can’t I fucking stop talking? I am so not made for drama in my life. Though, if you ask Becca—she’s my sister—she’d say I’m nothing _but_ a dramatic bitch.

“And thank the fucking gods.” The ambulance finally pulled to a stop beside them.

“Just a little longer, Steve. Just hold on. Help is here.”

Two guys, one black, one white, both with shoulders like comic book super-heroes, rushed over carrying giant duffel bags, presumably full of supplies.

Bucky backed up to give them all the space they could need.

About ten seconds later—some of the longest ten seconds of Bucky’s life—everything finally hit him.

His breathing quickened and turned choppy. His heart sped up and tried to beat its way out of his chest. His hands turned clammy and started to shake. Shivers ghosted up and down his body. His skin felt like it was on fire while his insides turned to ice.

 _Panic attack_ , a small part of him whispered. But the rest of him was too distracted to care.

Little bursts of gray obscured his vision and he felt like he was about to throw up. Everything—all the sirens blaring, the flashing lights, the chatter of many people swarming the area, his fucking car radio still going—it all dimmed. There was nothing but the fear and panic rushing through him now, curling and writhing in his brain and stomach and limbs.

It felt foul and acidic. It felt paralyzing. It felt like he was dying.

_Not dying. Steve is dying. Maybe already dead._

And, with that, what little bit of control he’d gained over his breathing disappeared in an instant.

He somehow ended up sitting on the ground leaning against someone’s vehicle and his head automatically bowed so it rested between his bent knees. There was a buzzing in the background that he couldn’t quite place. It sounded weirdly like Becca. But it was distant and distorted and he ignored it. He was too far lost in his panic and terror to focus on his brain’s unrealistic imaginings.

Bucky didn’t really register anything until a hand glided through his hair. Nails grazed his scalp again and again. Someone murmured soothingly close by. It almost sounded like his sister again. But that was impossible because Becks was at home asleep. She had her kids to get ready for school in a few hours and her husband to kiss before they each parted for work.

But that voice stubbornly continued and it eventually drew him out. Slowly, he realized he was sitting on the ground. Most of the flashing lights were gone and there were no more shrieking sirens. His car radio was off, too.

“…and you know I always will, baby.”

He knew that voice. “Becca.” In one motion, he shifted so his knees were on the ground, the same as his butt, and he tipped forward. Reliable as always, his big sister caught him.

“Bucky,” she murmured, swaying them back and forth gently. She tightened her arms around him until she squeezed just enough that it was a comforting hug and not suffocating prison. Long years of practice, he knew. But Bucky didn’t have the wherewithal to care about that, just that it was perfect.

“That’s right, baby. Just breathe. Nice and slow. You know how to do this.”

“Not a baby,” some childish part of him protested.

“You’ll always be my baby. Even when you’re a hundred. How are you feeling?”

“Like I got run over by a semi. Twice.”

Becca snorted indelicately.

“How did you get here?” How did she even know to come? But he didn’t have the energy to ask more.

“The same way all wicked witches get anywhere, little lion. I hopped on my broomstick and flew.”

It was Bucky’s turn to snort.

Becca’s fingers carded through his hair again and it felt wonderful. But a gust of frigid wind brought home the fact that they were on the cold, hard ground and he only had a thin blanket wrapped around his shoulders. It didn’t do much to combat the chill.

“What are you doing here?” he asked after long moments.

“You needed me.” She said it as if it were as simple as that.

He supposed it was. Becca was ten years older than him. When their parents had died, she hadn’t hesitated to drop out of college so she could raise him. She’d promised him a long time ago that she would always come when he needed her, no matter what it took. She’d never once broken her word.

“When are you going to go back and get that degree you always wanted, Becks?” he asked, slowly pulling back. He was only partially teasing. She’d given up so much for him.

He loved her so much.

“I don’t know,” she said snarkily. “When are you going to find a nice boy and settle down, give me a few nieces and nephews?”

Bucky wanted to joke that that wasn’t how having kids worked but an image of beautiful-Steve lying on the frozen ground, dying, flashed across his brain and he grimaced. “Fuck.” He covered his face as his heart filled with guilt. He hadn’t done enough, he knew. He hadn’t done much of anything at all because, honestly, how much help could TV ‘information’ and some wadded up clothes really be against bullet holes?

Becca suddenly gasped and pulled his hands away from his face, sufficiently distracting him. “You’re the one Leah learned the F word from!” she accused dramatically.

“Wha—” he protested. “How do you know it was me? Why couldn’t it have been John?”

It probably had been him. But, still, if he could lay the blame at his brother-in-law’s feet then he felt absolutely zero guilt. Bucky still owed John for that time he’d crashed at his dorm instead of driving home from a conference during a blizzard. Bucky had stepped out from a nice, long, hot shower, opened the bathroom door, and gotten snowed on. All the moisture from his shower had rushed to fill his ice-cold dorm room. With all the windows thrown open, it quickly froze and fell as snowflakes. The bastard had only laughed as Bucky stood dumbfounded in nothing but a towel, barefoot in the snow.

“Because John knows how to keep his fucking mouth shut!” Becca replied, breaking Bucky out of his thoughts again.

His brain was jumping all over the place. But he focused enough to narrow his eyes. “How do we know it wasn’t _you_?” Bucky was only halfway serious. It probably really _had_ been him. They both knew she had no leg to stand on, though. He’d sure as hell gotten his mouth from somewhere.

Becca opened hers to say something but nothing came out.

 _Here’s lookin’ at you, kid_ , Bucky silently toasted. Then he grinned and it sparked with mischief. The grief in his heart lifted just a little, just for a moment.

“Because I said so,” Becca finally answered. “That’s why.”

Bucky snickered. They both knew he’d scored a point in their never-ending battle of sibling snark. “Sure, Becks. Sure.”

“As entertaining as this is,” a woman interrupted off on his left. Her voice dripped with cool amusement. “If you’re ready, what say we see how steady you are on your feet? I do have places I need to be.”

In the bright lights—from both hers and Steve’s cars—Bucky caught a small flicker of something. Worry maybe? More likely, grief. Whoever she was, she must know Steve. Or at least know _of_ him. Honestly, Bucky wouldn’t have been surprised if the two were best friends or dating or something. It was a rural area. All cops probably knew each other. And she was just as gorgeous as Steve, with her slim, curvy figure and her wavy red hair. The two were probably married. They would certainly make a striking couple.

Leave it to Bucky to panic and hit on a married man while he died in his arms on a frigid winter night.

Fuck. What even was his life?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As far as I know, there is no Sneak Road in Indiana, much less one that connects to 162. I literally just randomly picked a road for Sneak Road to intersect with. I have driven past a road before with that name. It was hilarious because it really did sneak up on you. 
> 
> Again, let me know if I need to add any tags or trigger warnings. Hopefully I didn’t trigger anyone. I tried to keep it fairly light.


	2. Chapter 2

Apparently John had driven Becca out, dropped her off, and went back home so they didn’t leave the kids alone for too long, sleeping or not.

His sister collected Bucky’s blood-smeared phone from the redhead and thanked her for calling. So there was the answer to his unasked question before.

With fifteen years of experience in herding Bucky wherever she wanted him to go, Becca soon had him buckled in the passenger seat of his SUV with the heat on full-blast, chasing away the chills. He’d had to climb in from the driver’s side because he really had damn near put his car into the ditch.

Becca then spent another two minutes talking to the redhead before climbing in and carefully backing back onto the road.

After all the excitement—terror—of the night, Bucky dozed fitfully. He was nudged awake some time later and made to climb out and follow.

It took him way longer than it really should have to realize that he wasn’t in his home, but his sister’s. It wasn’t until he was clumsily stepping into the shower that he realized everything was different. Becca had a shower stall, not a tub with a shower curtain like at his place.

But it didn’t matter. He couldn’t bring himself to even try to care. He was exhausted and he was covered in a dead man’s blood.

Bucky washed up slowly, mechanically. Then he wrapped himself in a fluffy towel. He couldn’t even look at his soiled clothes so he just left them there, bloody reminders of death marring the tile.

He felt dazed. Like a sleepwalker, unable to wake up. He felt…drained dry.

Walking into the bedroom he used whenever he slept at Becca’s, he saw his sister sitting on the bed, waiting for him. There were sweats and a dark green Henley laid out beside her. With all the coordination of a zombie, Bucky tried to dress.

Becca ended up helping him.

He thought he ought to have been embarrassed. He was two months shy of twenty-goddamn-five. He should’ve cared that his sister slash mother figure practically dressed him like a doll. But all he felt was nothing. A part of him was even sort of grateful for that. Maybe it meant he wouldn’t have nightmares. A man had bled out in his arms and he hadn’t done anything about it. He’d been all but useless.

At least Bucky had waited until afterwards to have his freak out. At least he hadn’t completely fucked _everything_ up.

That night, like Becca used to do for Bucky after their parents died, his sister ran her fingers through his hair and softly sang him to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve was alive because of a Good Samaritan, a stranger who hadn’t hesitated to help someone in need. He was alive because a man got off work early and happened to be driving by. Steve was alive because of a coincidence.

A routine traffic stop turned attempted murder. That’s what it boiled down to. Steve had pulled over a car doing eighty in a forty-five and had nearly died because of it.

 _But you didn’t_ , he reminded himself.

He was still recovering, not yet back on active duty. He wasn’t even that far beyond enforced bed rest. Technically he was now on ‘highly recommended bed rest.’ But he was fine. Going stir-crazy, but _fine_. 

He’d spent long hours in surgery and even longer days in a hospital room recovering. Then he’d been sent home with instructions to take it easy, to not lift anything or walk or twist or bend or move or just about anything else. He had barely been allowed to breathe it felt like. He had people visiting him all the time, hardly leaving him alone long enough to catch his breath.

Tony was the worst, though Steve knew the man would deny it to his final breath. He could never just admit when he cared about someone. If you knew how to look for it, though, it was completely obvious. It was in the little things. Like coming over and crashing on Steve’s couch for his mandatory day off and an extra one besides. ‘Because his cable was out and he couldn’t miss his very important TV show.’ Right…

The only reason Natasha wasn’t just as bad was because she’d been so focused on finding the man who’d shot him. And then, by the time the bastard had been caught, Steve was already up and moving around, insisting he was fine.

Sam and Riley, at least, had given him some breathing space. After Steve had begged, that was. Instead of showing up and trying to stay as Tony had, Sam had shown his care by cooking food. A _lot_ of food. Steve probably still had more than a month’s worth, all ready to go from his freezer to his oven to his stomach. Riley had been wonderful and shown his care by doing exactly as Steve asked. He’d stayed away and let Steve breathe. He’d only asked that he call every couple days.

Steve figured it was the least he could do for the most rational friend he had.

But, now, Steve sat in his car like a crazy weirdo.

Natasha had shoved a piece of paper into his hand about a week ago. He knew full well she was meddling. Tasha always meddled. It was her way. It made her an excellent cop and a wonderful friend. Also, occasionally very annoying. He was stuck with her, though, warts and all. They’d been through too much together to stop caring.

It wasn’t as though he really minded her interference. This time, anyway. He’d actually been wondering what happened to the man who’d saved his life. Mostly what he remembered was stormy, if panicked, blue eyes and his voice, some words. Steve hadn’t had much of anything else to go off of.

But now he had that slip of paper. _James Barnes_ , it read, with an address. It was located in a small subdivision, what looked to be around twenty houses. They were spaced pretty decently apart. There were between a hundred and a hundred fifty feet of lawn between each one.

After growing up in New York City, one of the things that had taken the longest for Steve to get used to after his move to rural Indiana was the amount of space everywhere. There were long stretches of two-lane highways, some single-lane bridges, long rock driveways, woods, fields for crops, and small subdivisions scattered around. Then there were houses like his. The closest house to him was more than half a mile away. His closest neighbors were squirrels and deer.

…And he was procrastinating.

Sitting there, Steve had seen a man jog from the house next door and just walk into the one listed on his paper. He moved with the ease of someone who knew he belonged in both.

Steve finally decided that he’d been there long enough that he’d moved from weird to downright creepy. He got his ass in gear.

He drove closer so that he was actually in front of the house listed—being a cop made certain habits ingrained, such as parking unobtrusively a good distance away.

When he shut off his engine, Steve opened the door and slowly climbed out. He was starting to regret not listening to his doctor about taking it easy. Pulling his large frame out of a vehicle, even his personal SUV, was…difficult. It was extremely painful, actually.

Maybe Tasha was right and his stubbornness was going to kill him one day. If it ever did happen, he wouldn’t put it past her to stand over his dead body, glare daggers at him, and say ‘I told you so, Rogers.’ Then she’d call him a dumbass-ing son of a bitch. He’d probably deserve it, too. Tasha was usually right about most things. It was damned annoying.

Steve shut the car door and paused to lean against it. It took longer than he would’ve liked for the flare of pain to abate. As soon as it became bearable, though, he was up and walking around his vehicle. Stubborn might not be his middle name but sure as hell was an apt descriptor.

With a hand placed gently over his lower abdomen, he made his way up the sloped driveway, down the sidewalk, and up the porch steps to the front door.

His stomach was jumping around like a nervous child and it was uncomfortable. He ignored it. He wanted to properly meet the man who’d saved his life. He wanted to thank him. He wanted…he didn’t really know what. He wanted to explain? To talk? To hear James’s point of view of that night?

He would figure it out, he was sure.

He knocked when he didn’t see a doorbell. Then he waited.

“Yeah, Becks, I’ll get it!” a voice yelled from inside the house. It was the same voice he remembered from that night.

Before Steve could do more than take a breath to prepare, the door swung open.

The first thing Steve noticed was that the man was drop-dead gorgeous. Six-foot; built; chocolate brown hair streaked with bits of caramel from the sun, a little over long but not long enough for a ponytail. And blue eyes like he remembered. They were gray-blue, actually, so, not exactly as he remembered, but he forgave himself for the mistake. It had been night and his patrol car’s lights had been flashing. And Steve had been hurt.

“James Barnes?” he asked. He was pretty sure it was but he wanted to make sure.

The man’s face turned both florid-red and a sickly-gray as he stared. Steve hadn’t known it was possible for someone to flush and pale at the same time.

“Hey,” he started, taking half a step forward. “Hey, are you,” _…okay?_

But, before Steve could do anything stupid like reach out to try to steady the man, James held up a finger telling him to wait, backed up a step, and slammed the door in Steve’s face.

Worried and confused, Steve stepped back again. Then he nervously shifted from foot to foot, ignoring the pain his fidgeting caused.

It was around minute later that the door opened again. But it wasn’t James standing there. It was a woman—mid-thirties, about five-seven, thin but strong-looking. It was a woman who bore a striking resemblance to James Barnes, right down to the eyes. She looked too young to be his mother unless James was much younger than Steve had thought. A sister maybe?

The woman stepped out of the house and a quick glance behind her showed James crouched down, back against the wall, his head bowed between his knees, taking measured breaths.

Stupidly, Steve opened his mouth. But he didn’t know what to say so he only snapped it shut again. When she stepped closer than he liked, he retreated to the side to give her room. Once fully on the porch, she closed the door firmly behind her.

“Steve?” she questioned. Steve could only nod. “My name is Becca.”

“The sister.” Steve inwardly sighed at his stupid mouth. That had sounded _so_ intelligent. And not at all stalker-ish. It was practically guaranteed to not get the police called on him.

His friends would never let him live it down if that ever happened.

Becca raised her eyebrow pointedly and Steve hastened to explain. “He, uh…” Wow. He was really racking up the points on his idiot-meter. “I don’t remember much, but I do remember him saying he had a sister named Becca.”

A fond smile grew on her face. “Why don’t we sit,” she suggested with a wave of her hand towards the porch steps. In the absence of chairs, it was the only seating available. “He’ll be a few minutes.”

They sat—very slowly and painfully in Steve’s case. Becca kindly didn’t say a word about it. Then a silence settled over them. It was uncomfortable but Steve was determined to wait. He was the one who’d barged in on them. He was starting to wonder if it had been a good idea. The look on James’s face… It hadn’t been good. Obviously seeing Steve again hadn’t been in his plans.

It was understandable, he supposed. The man was just driving down the road, minding his own business, when he was tossed into a situation that he hadn’t been prepared for.

_I don’t fucking know how!_

Yeah. He didn’t remember much, but some things had stuck.

“He thought you were dead, you know,” Becca said, breaking into his thoughts.

Steve jerked in shock and looked over. He sucked in a sharp breath but it was more out of pain at the movement than the surprise of her statement. He wasn’t a big ‘gasp dramatically’ kind of guy.

“What?” he managed. “No one told him—”

How was that even possible? Sam and Riley had arrived in their ambulance and taken him away. James had been questioned multiple times by more than one person. How was it possible that he hadn’t known Steve was alive? He should have been told! For god’s sake, James was the reason people had even known that Steve had been hurt! James was the reason he had lived long enough for help to arrive!

That was… Steve was going to have a serious talk with his friends.

“I’m sorry.” He knew it didn’t mean much, but he truly was. “He should’ve been told. Hell, I probably shouldn’t have even come—just bringing up bad memories of a bad night, I suppose. Nobody needs that.”

He looked away, feeling ashamed. Steve had come to settle his own mind, not thinking about anyone else’s. It was impulsive. And James was suffering because of his selfishness.

“He’s…” Becca paused, obviously unsure. But then he saw her shift out of the corner of his eye. She squared her shoulders. “About some things,” she started again, “he’s delicate. Give him any kind of tool or schematics or a mathematical equation, a problem to solve, and he’s the hardest worker you’ll ever know. He’ll keep going until he’s finished or until he has to stop. But…” She shook her head and fell silent.

She was obviously thinking carefully about her words, about what she was trying to say.

Steve honestly didn’t think he ever would have described a man like James as delicate. It took a strong person to do what he had, to step up and handle a difficult situation. Many people would have driven by, pretending they hadn’t seen a thing, a ‘someone else will help’ mentality. So that’s what he told her.

Becca gazed at him seriously before seeming to come to a decision.

“When Buck was eight years old,” she began.

“Buck?” Steve cocked his head.

“James,” she clarified. “But everyone calls him Bucky. Except for cops, apparently.” She gave a small half-smile like she was telling him she was only teasing. It fell after a moment.

“When Bucky was eight years old, our parents died. A robbery gone wrong, they said. They were killed for a couple of stupid sodas, candy, and a roll of scratchers.” Becca let out a little laugh but there was no humor in it, just pain and grief.

Steve looked into her eyes and somehow knew that it was about to get worse. He was right.

“He was there,” she whispered. “He watched it happen. Dad was shot and killed instantly but my ma…she died while Bucky held her and cried.”

“Christ. I’m so sorry.” There wasn’t anything else Steve could say. Because of chance, or maybe kismet, Bucky went through two similar experiences. Why wouldn’t he assume Steve had died? Just like his parents.

“The redhead—Officer Romanov—she called me from Bucky’s phone. She said that within seconds of the paramedics getting to you, Bucky started having a severe panic attack.

“He’s been plagued with them since that day,” she murmured.

Since their parents died, Steve understood. Goddammit. Steve was really starting to want to punch his friends in the face. They should have told James—Bucky—that Steve was still alive. He’s only alive _because_ of the man; they should have said something.

“It took me thirty minutes to get to him after she called and Bucky was still in the middle of it. It took me another ten minutes to get him to respond to anything. I don’t know how long it was between when it started and when I was called, but I’m guessing, based on how he was after, that it lasted around an hour.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose before quietly adding, “When he’s in the middle of an attack, there’s nothing for him. No sound, no touch, nothing. He only registers what’s inside, what he’s feeling. When he came out of it enough to be aware of anything, nearly everyone was gone. Nothing left but your car, Officer Romanov, her car, and a large puddle of blood. I’m pretty sure the cop only stayed because she had to. Bucky was leaning against her car. Bit rude to just drive off.”

Steve could guess where everyone had gone. Some to the hospital with him, others to the station to do research and watch his dash and body cams. Still others would have been out patrolling, looking for any hint of the guy who shot him while those at the station sent them whatever info they found. He understood, now, how Bucky came to the conclusion he did.

“I’m so sorry no one told him. And I’m sorry I came and made it worse.”

“It’s not your fault. And no one did it on purpose. He’ll realize that eventually. Just…no one had the heart to talk any more about you than they had to. He always got this pained look on his face when they came to go over his statement. I’m not sure anyone actually recognized it for the guilt it was.”

There was a soft thud from inside the house. Steve guessed that Bucky was up and moving again. Whatever happened, he promised himself, he would be patient. Bucky deserved that and more.

With a quick glance at the door, Becca leaned toward him to stare intently into his eyes. “Just. Be gentle with him. He’s been through a lot. Not everyone’s scars are on the outside.”

The door opened before Steve could respond. Becca quickly stood and went inside, running her hand down Bucky’s arm in a comforting gesture as she passed.

Steve started to stand, pain rippling through him and stealing his breath. But, before he could do more than lift up a couple inches, Bucky was sitting beside him on the top step.

“Hi.”

Just like that night, Steve was drawn in by his voice. Today it was shy and hesitant. But still strong.

“Hi.” Then they sat and stared at each other. Steve mentally berated himself. He didn’t know what to say. It seemed he was forever going off half-cocked—

No. No, he realized that he did know what to say. “I’m sorry.” He said it quietly but the world around them was quiet so he knew it was heard. “I didn’t know. That no one had told you I was alright, I mean. And I’m sorry for surprising you. It wasn’t my intention to…” He trailed off. “I didn’t mean to cause you pain.”

Bucky didn’t respond, just sat there in silence, and Steve figured he’d screwed it all up before he’d even begun. Maybe it was that kismet again. He was about to apologize again and make an excuse, to leave the man in peace, when Bucky finally spoke.

“Do you want to come over? Jase and Leah will be home soon and I’m guessing you don’t want to be run over by a couple of energetic children.”

“I feel as though my doctor would frown on that,” Steve replied wryly.

One side of Bucky’s mouth quirked up and the man quickly stood. Steve envied the ease with which he moved.

He rested his left forearm against his abdomen to protect his still-healing wounds from moving too much and used his right arm to try to lever himself up to standing. He wasn’t quite able to strangle the sound of pain and Bucky immediately held out his hand to help. It was an offer that Steve was unable to refuse.

He’d thought getting out of his car was painful? Ha. He wasn’t going to be sitting on any steps again in the near future. Not until he was well and truly healed. Because this sucked donkey balls.

Steve forced a slow exhale, trying to breathe through the hurt. Bucky was kind enough to wait patiently. He finally stood to his full height and let go of Bucky’s hand. “I will call you a liar if you ever repeat this,” he said as he looked into those beautiful stormy eyes watching him, “but I really should have listened to the doctor.”

Bucky snorted out a laugh. “Come on, pal. I got a chair with your name on it.

Steve followed him across the lawn, the crunch of frozen grass loud under their feet. He was glad Bucky allowed them to take their time, to take it easy. Steve wasn’t up to being speedy at the moment.

A minute later, Steve stopped and eyed the six steps in front of him. Quietly sighing in resignation, he started the climb. He could feel sweat beaded on his temples by the time he reached the top. He paused at the doorway to try to catch his breath. It was honestly humiliating. A month ago he barely broke a sweat running five miles and then bench-pressing two hundred and fifty pounds. Now, he could barely walk up six steps without falling over.

Bucky slid an arm around Steve’s waist, jolting him out of his miserable thoughts. “Come on. You look like you need to sit down right the fuck now.” He took care with avoiding Steve’s wounds as he walked them into a spacious country kitchen. Dropping him off at one of the tall swiveling chairs, Bucky rounded the kitchen island.

“I’ve got coffee, tea, chocolate milk, and water.”

“Uh,” Steve thought about it for a second. The chocolate milk was surprisingly tempting. He hadn’t had any in years. But ultimately, “Coffee would be great, thanks.” He watched Bucky get to work brewing some. “I appreciate you being so…accommodating. I dropped in on you uninvited and unannounced.”

Bucky glanced over his shoulder for a second before he finished stretching up to grab two orange mugs from the top cabinet shelf. Steve couldn’t help but watch as toned muscles peeked out when his t-shirt rode up a couple of inches. And those shoulders were practically a work of art.

Once the cups were on the counter beside the coffee maker, Steve forced his eyes back up. And just in time because Bucky turned around to lean against the counter. Christ. He looked like a freaking cover model. _Good Housekeeping_ meets sexiest man alive.

“I’ve got to admit,” Bucky said. “It was a bit of a shock to see you, you know, not dead. But it was good, even as bad as you look.”

That made Steve smile in humor. It transformed into a smirk only a couple seconds later when something popped into his head. “I thought you said I was pretty?”

Bucky turned the most beautiful shade of red that Steve had had the pleasure of seeing in a long while. He almost lost his smirk to a stupid TV-crush-style sigh. Now _that_ would have been truly embarrassing. Thank god for _some_ small mercies.

“You can’t blame me for something I said during a panic-induced word-vomit!” Bucky exclaimed.

Steve let his smirk drop and made up his face into a perfect pout. “Are you saying I’m not pretty?” He knew he was laying it on thick, but he really, really couldn’t help himself. Teasing this beautiful man was too much fun. He threw in his best puppy dog eyes on top of the pout. He’d been told by all his friends whenever he used it on them that it was extremely powerful. They might have used the word evil a few times.

Apparently it worked on Bucky, too, because his face flushed even hotter than before and he started stuttering. It was utterly adorable.

Fascinated and enchanted, Steve wondered if he could blame it on his injuries if he accidentally let out a pathetic whimper or some other embarrassing sound. He forced himself to keep his mouth firmly shut while he got his heart rate under control and Bucky verbally stumbled around trying to assure Steve that he was, in fact, pretty without actually _saying_ that he was.

That went on for about two minutes before Steve couldn’t take it anymore. He started laughing. He let loose a belly laugh that made him tear up from the throbbing it caused in his wounds. But it wasn’t enough to actually make him stop.

Bucky transformed from stuttering and awkward to amused indignation. “You fucking punk! You just sit there listening to me make a fool of myself? And then you laugh at me?” But there was a tiny hint of a smile edging at his lips.

Steve’s mirth finally died down when his abdomen and shoulder refused to be ignored any longer. He bent at the waist, laying his head on the counter, and groaned. “God, that hurts so damn much,” he whispered to himself. He took a few shallow breaths then forced himself upright again.

Maybe he should change his middle name to stubborn. Tasha would be all for it.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it. You’re—”

His brain finally registered what his eyes were seeing. Bucky held out some medicine. A bottle of extra strength Tylenol sat on the counter between them. Steve was touched at the kindness shown by a man he’d literally just been teasing. Could he get any more perfect?

Apparently he could. A cup of coffee appeared in front of Steve two seconds after he accepted the medicine.

“Thank you,” Steve rasped. His throat suddenly felt tight.

To lighten the mood after swallowing the pills, Steve figured a little more flirting wouldn’t hurt. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, “You’re just too cute. And fun to tease.”

He had the pleasure of watching another blush, faint this time, rise on Bucky’s cheeks. Bucky attempted to hide it by taking a sip from his coffee cup. Steve just smiled.

Then it was Bucky’s turn to grin. It was slow and sexy and Steve’s mind immediately went, _Uh oh_.

“You know,” he began. “Just because I was panicking, it doesn’t make my words any less true.”

Now Steve was lost. When did Bucky panic? Maybe when he’d opened the door to Steve? But he hadn’t actually said anything then.

The confusion must have shown on his face because Bucky clarified. “You’d have to be a goddamned idiot not to know how gorgeous you are.”

This time, it was Steve’s turn to blush and Bucky’s to laugh.

Many people had described Steve many ways in the past: didn’t look before he leapt, flew by the seat of his pants, impulsive, tenacious, cocky, stubborn… He proved quite a few of those true now. “Would you be interested in going on another date with me?”

Bucky sucked in a breath as he took a sip of coffee and little dots of liquid peppered the island countertop when he sputtered. Steve didn’t mind, though, because, within a few seconds, Bucky had himself under control.

He stared at Steve, shocked. “What?”

“Would you be interested in going on another date with me,” he repeated. This time it was a statement.

“Another?” Bucky looked perplexed. God, how was even _that_ adorable?

“Well, I’d ask you out for coffee but,” Steve held up his mug pointedly, “I’m pretty sure we’re doing that now. Drinks, flirting, laughter, compliments…” Steve finally let his eyes roam what he could see of that delectable body before focusing back on his face. “…chemistry,” he finished.

Bucky blushed again. Absolutely gorgeous.

Steve leaned forward. Pain twinged with the movement but, again, he ignored it. His body was almost certainly going to hate him later but this was much more important.

“By my estimation, Buck, that all adds up to a date. So,” Steve gave him a flirtatious smile, “you interested in a second one?”

Bucky’s face was suddenly unreadable as he slowly lowered his cup to the counter.

Steve started to feel unsure, like he’d made a disastrous misstep, like he’d been blinded by his own emotions and want that he’d read everything all wrong. His face fell into serious lines as Bucky walked around the island, getting closer and closer.

Steve swiveled his chair to the side. If he was going to be turned down, he would face it head-on. He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat and tried to tell his heart that a rejection wouldn’t matter, that he would handle it just fine. It wasn’t like he’d never been told no before.

Bucky kept coming until he was so close that he stood between the V of Steve’s knees.

The tightness in Steve’s throat turned from nervousness to lust in seconds.

Bucky was only inches away. Close enough to rest his palms high up on Steve’s thighs if he wanted. But he wasn’t nearly close enough to kiss. It drove Steve a little bit insane as his body reacted. He wanted to reach out and touch, to feel, to grip his hands around Bucky’s hips and pull him closer. Until he was _right there_ and Steve could devour him.

But he forced himself to behave. Bucky coming closer was not an invitation for more, no matter how much his dick insisted otherwise.

Bucky leaned in an inch closer, like he was about to share some sexy secret. Or give Steve permission to ravish him for the rest of their natural lives.

_Fuck._

He watched as Bucky took an agonizingly slow breath in through his parted lips. Steve felt as if he were about to go permanently cross-eyed.

 _Calm the fuck down!_ he internally yelled.

His dick ignored him as Bucky spoke in a tantalizing whisper. “Why don’t you stay for dinner?”

Bucky quickly backed away, a raffish grin on his face.

Steve’s brain slowly clicked back on. He suddenly realized that he’d gone and fallen in love with someone who was just as much of an asshole as he was.

_Fuck._


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I would like to say that it amused me to no end that I both started and ended this fic with the word fuck. I was a tiny bit sad that no one seemed to notice. But I was really happy at how many people liked this. It warmed my heart immensely that it was so well received. Thank you everyone for the comments and kudos. The support means a lot.
> 
> Second, I hadn’t really intended to add more to this but I was having a good day and dreamed up this silliness on my way to work.
> 
> Third, this story will stay marked as complete because I completed it with chapter 3. Anything posted after that will be extra and most likely in snippet form rather than an actual continuation of a set storyline or plot. If I ever think up more, I’ll add it on as another chapter. If not, then this’ll be it.
> 
> Finally, the song used here is _Love Will Keep Us Together_ by Captain & Tennille <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_QNEf9oGw8o>. (And this is the kind of corny dancing I was imagining <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CJSQKtx5tVQ>)

**Chapter 4**

Steve pulled his patrol car into the driveway, cut the engine and lights, and just sat there.

It had been a long day. Nothing really out of the ordinary had happened; everything had been pretty routine. He’d written a couple of tickets for people excessively speeding, helped an elderly man carry his groceries from his car to his kitchen, climbed a tree to rescue a kid’s ball, and gave Tony shit with Riley and Sam for the newest incarnation of his trimmed beard and mustache—an odd whimsical number that almost looked like something out of the _Hunger Games_.

It wasn’t like Steve was hurt anymore. He’d been healed from his gunshot wounds and back on full duty for months now. He was back up to his full strength and in good health, but, still, here he sat, unable to unwind from a fairly stress-free day.

Since just sitting in his quiet SUV wasn’t doing much for him, he slid out and walked up the sidewalk. He took a few moments to look up at the stars, bright so late at night. Most everyone’s lights were off. He used his hand to block the porch light right in front of him and started searching the sky. He located the Big Dipper, Draco—one of his favorite constellations, because who didn’t like dragons—and the Little Dipper, as well as Hercules. He didn’t see Orion anywhere. It was probably the wrong time of year or something.

On a sigh, he dropped his gaze. He climbed the steps and pulled out his key. He and Bucky had recently taken a step forward in their relationship and granted access to each others’ houses.

When Steve opened the door, music sounded down the short hall. He unlaced his boots, setting them neatly under the side table, and walked the eight feet to the living room doorway.

The sight that met his eyes made him start to grin. Steve couldn’t help himself. He pulled out his phone, quickly opened the camera app, and hit record.

Bucky, who was still working night shifts and would be for another two weeks, was dressed in one of Steve’s navy blue t-shirts that was slightly too big for him and purple smiley face boxers. He was standing on the couch with a duster in hand. He was also trying to dance along to the music coming from the speakers his phone was hooked up to, a bit difficult since he was stretched out to clean the ceiling fan blades.

One song ended and another began.

After a short intro, Bucky pulled the duster down and started to sing along. Unfortunately for him, he tried using it as a microphone. He flicked it enthusiastically towards his face and got a face full of dust. One word in, he let loose a giant sneeze that nearly had him falling off the couch.

Steve smothered a laugh as his adorable boyfriend carelessly jerked his head as if to erase what just happened and went right back to singing into his ‘microphone.’

_Some sweet-talking girl comes along, singing a song._

_Don't mess around. You've just got to be strong._

Bucky went from swaying his hips to stilling then twisting his hand out in front of him. Then he started moving his head and shoulders back and forth in some sort of wiggle pattern. Steve was pretty sure he’d seen that move or something like it in one of the corny movies Bucky had made him watch.

_Just stop, 'Cause I really love you._

Bucky wiggled again but this time added in his hips. It was pretty good considering he was still up on the couch and had to balance his weight.

_Stop, I'll be thinking of you_

He placed his free hand dramatically over his heart as he kept swaying.

_Look in my heart and let love keep us together._

Steve leaned against the doorframe as he watched and recorded.

It was kind of painful to listen to—Bucky could not carry a tune to save his life—but that just made Steve love it all the more. Maybe it was a measure of just how besotted he was that he found the whole thing ridiculously cute.

Bucky stayed right where he was, standing on the couch as he sang into the duster he held and displayed his cheesy dance moves. He never turned around so he never saw Steve.

Eventually, the song changed to something Steve didn’t recognize and Bucky made a mock bow at a pretend audience.

As he righted himself, Steve let out a wolf-whistle. Bucky jolted and started to turn. Then he squeaked as his foot slipped off the couch and he landed on his butt on the floor.

“Fucking ow,” he muttered. Then he poked his head up to see over the couch. His face was endearingly red and his hair completely disheveled. “Hi,” he said sheepishly.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Steve said with a grin. Bucky was clearly more embarrassed having been caught singing and dancing than hurt from falling.

“Um, how long have you been standing th—” Bucky’s eyes got comically wide as he noticed the phone in Steve’s hand. “Were you _recording_?!” He covered his face with his hands and, with a groan, planted his head against the cushions.

Steve chuckled lowly as he ended the video. Slipping the phone into his pocket, he ambled over to lean against the back of the couch. “Aw, honey, don’t be like that. I was only recording for posterity. Someday, I’ll look back on this moment…” —Bucky peeked up at Steve through his fingers— “…and chuckle. Probably tomorrow. And every day after that.”

Bucky hid his face again with another drawn out groan. There was an indecipherable mumble from the cushions.

“What was that, now?”

Bucky didn’t look up but he tilted his head just enough to uncover his mouth so that his words were audible. “How long have you been standing there?”

Instead of answering the question, Steve straightened up and climbed over the back of the couch. He plopped himself down on the cushion beside Bucky’s head and started running his fingers through the long dark strands of hair. It caused Bucky to almost purr and most of his nervous energy bled away. After a few moments, Steve stopped and tugged gently at Bucky’s hair. “Come up here, will you?”

His boyfriend stubbornly rubbed his face against the couch in a loose approximation of a headshake. “No.”

“I need to tell you something.” When he still didn’t move, Steve added, “It’s important.”

Reluctantly, Bucky sat up and looked at Steve. Seeing the seriousness on his face, Bucky immediately got to his feet. Steve directed him away from taking the seat beside him and, instead, pulled him to sit sideways on his lap.

Bucky grimaced as his leg scraped over some of the pouches and tools on Steve’s belt. But, after a few seconds of shifting, he settled and looked at Steve expectantly.

“I don’t know how to tell you this,” Steve said hesitantly. I’m…not sure how you’ll react.”

Bucky’s brows drew down. “What? What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Bucky…” Steve took a breath and held it, grabbing one of Bucky’s hands in both of his. Bucky leaned forward in concern.

“I saw the whole thing,” Steve told him.

Pretty gray-blue eyes blinked at Steve as he sat back again. “What?” Bucky’s voice was almost toneless as he stared.

“I caught your whole performance,” Steve said, nodding solemnly. It took everything in Steve not to smile at the expressions that ran across Bucky’s face then.

Intense worry became confusion which turned to realization and, finally, flustered exasperation. Then he glowered. “We are not amused,” he said.

Steve lost it then. He wrapped his arms around his boyfriend, planted his face against his shoulder, and laughed. It took a while for him to calm down, especially when, halfway through, he looked up and was met with Bucky’s delightful pout.

“God, I love you,” Steve eventually sighed.

Bucky sucked in a quick breath. “What?” he said in a near-whisper.

It took a moment for Steve’s brain to catch up to what his mouth had just said. “I love you,” he repeated.

It was the first time either of them had said it out loud. They’d been together for a while but, any time Steve’s heart had overflowed with the feeling, his brain had cautioned that it was too soon to say the words. But he’d silently said them again and again with his actions. Steve thought they both had.

When Bucky would come over, worrying over a problem he was trying to solve at work, Steve made him dinner and stayed quiet, letting him be with his own thoughts.

When Steve dealt with a man who was being abused by his live-in girlfriend but refused to press charges much less admit that anything was wrong or that a man even _could_ be abused by a woman, Bucky comforted him, cuddled with him, and didn’t ask questions.

When Bucky had a panic attack, Steve did his best to be a calming voice in the middle of the storm to draw him out. Steve took care of him any way he could, any way his boyfriend would allow.

When Steve and Natasha had had a disagreement that led to them not talking for three days—something that, because they were partners who still had to work together, could fall anywhere between difficult to dangerous, depending on the specific moment—Bucky had dragged Steve over to Becca’s house for a lively family dinner. He’d even gotten Steve to laugh a few times.

When he and Bucky had fought about some stupid, inconsequential thing that Steve couldn’t even remember a few days later, they had both done something sweet to show the other that they were sorry, even if both of them had been too stubborn to actually say the words.

“You love me?” Bucky asked wide-eyed.

Steve reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind Bucky’s ear. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah, I do. I love you.”

Bucky vaulted into him, wrapping his arms around Steve’s neck. It was awkward, considering how he had to twist his upper body to do so, but it was still perfect. “I love you, too,” Bucky whispered into Steve’s neck. “I love you so damn much.”

Steve wrapped the love of his life up in his arms and closed his eyes.

This, being here, being with Bucky, loving Bucky, was so much better than being alone in his car or anywhere else. Being with Bucky always made things better. Bucky made Steve better.

“I’m keeping the video, though,” Steve murmured with a smile.

Bucky pulled back a little bit to look him in the eye and lightly smacked him in the back of the head in retaliation.

Steve just laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I hope you like this addition to Kismet. Now for some real talk.
> 
> My [5+1 fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20343430/chapters/48237436): I need to, first, apologize to everyone who’s read it and patiently waited for the next chapter. I know I said that I’d get back to working on it in January 2020, but things haven’t quite panned out that way. Since October, I’ve been extremely busy (and not always in a good way). Very few things have turned out how I imagined and stuff just keeps happening. I won’t bore you with the details. It's hard to remember them all anyway.
> 
> So, for making you wait, I’m sorry.
> 
> I am still planning on finishing the fic but I’ve been having a lot of trouble with getting the chapter down on paper. I’ve got the songs picked out and have a rough outline of how things will (most likely) go, and I’ve got a little bit of it written, but I’ve been struggling a lot with it. It’s so much worse than the trouble I had writing Pepper’s chapter. That, plus a general lack of time that comes with doing that necessary thing called Life, has ended up with me working very little on the chapter.
> 
> You might have noticed I’ve posted things lately that _aren’t_ my 5+1. They’re all either short or not very well written. For that, too, I’m sorry. It’s the way things have turned out. I do plan on finishing the 5+1, but it probably won’t be for quite a while. I’m not giving up on it but, well, I just don’t know when it’ll happen.
> 
> If you want to come talk to me about it—or share thoughts, ideas, or encouragement?—feel free to head on over to [5 times they don’t know + 1 time they find out](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20343430/chapters/48237436) and send me a comment. I try to reply to each and every one, even if it ends up not being in a very timely manner.
> 
> I appreciate every one of you who has taken the time to read my works. Thank you for sending Kudos and especially thank you for commenting. You all make me happy.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I caught some feels. It might be contagious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I blame greyhavensking for this. (Thank you.) In replying to their comment (WAY past overdue, sorry again), this came into my head and I feel like posting it as another chapter even though I’m not writing it out or expanding. I’m going to put it up just as it is. Maybe someday I’ll get around to making it a full chapter but, for now, this is what you get. I hope you like it.

**Chapter 5**

(I left out the beginning of the comment so, if you want to read it in its entirety, it’s in the comments of Chapter 4)

*****

Despite what he says, there's no way Steve watches that video [of Bucky dancing] and laughs. As much of an asshole as he is, he is also sweet. He watches that video and goes all googly-eyed and sappy. That was the day he first told Bucky he loved him, though he'd known it for a while. That, right there on his phone, is a treasured memory wrapped up in a ball of love with corny music playing in the background. He pulls it out when he's having a rough day or needs a few minutes to not think about all the difficulties of his job. Besides calling/talking to Bucky, that's his go-to.

Imagine Natasha walking in on Steve on the verge of tears after seeing or failing to stop something awful. He's just sitting alone, curled up against a wall watching the video over and over. She wants to laugh at Bucky's ridiculousness even though she feels like shit too. But then Steve tells her what followed, what it actually represents. Natasha knows Steve better than anyone and knows how he has changed since meeting Bucky.

They end up cuddled against each other watching it over and over, crying and laughing at the same time. Natasha never breathes a word to anyone and never teases Steve or Bucky about it because she knows just what it means. How much it means. Even if she hadn't liked Bucky before, she would have loved him for what he'd given Steve: A reason to make it through the tough days. A reason to make it home every time.


End file.
